


Beneath the Hawthorn

by heartofstanding



Category: 14th Century CE RPF
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Flower Crowns, Outdoor Sex, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-27 20:28:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20413825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartofstanding/pseuds/heartofstanding
Summary: Anne and Richard escape into their garden for some private time.





	Beneath the Hawthorn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shreds_and_patches](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shreds_and_patches/gifts).

> Written for a prompt given to me by angevin2, who asked for Richard/Anne having some garden sex.
> 
> I have no idea what enclosed medieval gardens were like.

Anne breathes in the sweet air and raises her head to the clear sky, the blue bright and endless, the clouds faint wisps. The gardens are beautiful at this time of year, the hawthorns heavy with white blossom, the clumps of pale-yellow primroses, forget-me-nots and lilies of the valley bright against the grass, the beds of roses, speedwells, violets, foxglove and daisies, growing perfectly. And though the air is open and free, the garden is bordered by high walls and they have sent away their attendants so they may be as free as they like.

Anne turns back to Richard, waiting for him to lock the gate before she tucks her arm in his. He smiles beautifully at her and kisses her.

‘And now it is just us until we wish otherwise,’ he says.

‘Or until they break down the door,’ she teases. ‘How long do you think we can hide in here?’

‘Nowhere near as long as we want,’ he says and he’s sad and she doesn’t want him to be sad, they came here to be happy and free.

She squeezes his arm. ‘Well, we can’t stay here forever, we have no food and you’d get bored of the clothes we’re wearing.’

‘But then,’ Richard says, ‘we could take our clothes off and I wouldn’t get bored…’

‘And then the sun will burn us!’

‘There’s shade under the hawthorn!’

They giggle together and she leans up to kiss him, letting him hold her tightly in his arms. They walk through the gardens, taking the time to breathe in each flower’s perfume and study how the gardens have changed since their last visit. The different shades of roses, how the flowers, in the first weeks of summer, have both fragile new buds and blooms unfurled to full glory. Richard picks a daisy and she breathes in its simple, sweet scent.

‘You should take off your templers,’ he says, ‘and wear a crown of flowers.’

So she does, letting her templers fall to the grass while he weaves together a crown of daisies, primroses and violets and sets it upon the top of her loosened hair. She laughs and wishes she could see it.

‘Will you make one for me?’

‘Of course!’

She makes his of the same flowers and climbs onto a raised garden to crown him, stroking his golden hair with her fingers. It comes to her that the world is very quiet, that the only thing she can hear is the wind and the birds. When they do not speak, the only human sound is their breaths. It is almost as if they are Adam and Eve, and nothing exists but themselves and this garden.

He turns, stretching up to kiss her on her perch, and she laughs and kisses him again. This quiet, this peace, this solitude – it has made her almost drunk.

‘We are the king and queen of summer,’ she tells him.

He grins at her and he is so beautiful, the smile on his face, the fact that he is _hers _– and she kisses him again and again.

‘There is no one else in the world right now but us,’ she says. ‘And I think you are right, we should go about naked. Why should we hide? We are husband and wife, king and queen, and there is no shame.’

His eyes gleam at her as he lifts her down, stumbling as she hits the ground. They hold each other close.

‘No shame,’ he says and his fingers go to the fastenings of her gown.

They take their clothes off, leaving them where they fall and at any other time, Anne thinks Richard would protest, especially since they have to be the ones to put them back on without any help. They recrown themselves with their woven flowers and hold hands, smiling at each other, the sight of sunlight – unfiltered by glass – on bare skin. She feels as if she has never seen Richard naked before, the paleness of his skin, the gold of his hair, the flush of his cheeks are all so clear, so fresh.

‘Anne,’ he says, and pulls her closer to kiss.

They run riot, holding hands and pelting down the ordered lines of the gardens, the grass long and catching at their ankles, and then they come together to kiss until they collapse under the shade of a hawthorn, staring up at the white blossom, their crowns of flowers coming undone. Anne takes it from her head and breaks it apart, scattering petals and blossoms on the ground.

‘I love you,’ she says. ‘I know you know it already, but sometimes it is nice to say it.’

Richard rolls onto his belly beside her and she pulls the broken crown from his head, feeling it unravel beneath her fingers, and he kisses her.

‘It is,’ he says, breath warm against her lips. ‘I love you too, Anne.’

He takes one of the primroses and brushes it along her nose. She wrinkles at it him, finding it ticklish. He kisses the end of her long nose, trailing the petals over her lips and down her neck and she shivers, not sure she likes it until he strokes it down her sternum and between her breasts.

‘Oh,’ she says.

He kisses her as the flower travels over her breasts, the petals circling her nipples, making them pebble at the sensation. Her stomach tightens and she lets out a faint whine as he drags the primrose over her belly. She recoils when it brushes against her sides or drips into her navel – it’s far too ticklish in those places. Richard kisses her and his arm stretches on, sweeping the flower over her hips and between her thighs. She parts them unconsciously, reaching up to cup his face, and then gasps out loud as she feels the petals whisper across her heated flesh.

She squirms, the lightness of the touch teasing, not quite enough and slowly maddening. She spreads her legs wider and whines to Richard, who only laughs and kisses her before moving down her body, planting kisses where the primrose first traced its path. She lets out a moan at the touch of his lips against her nipples, feeling how hot and wet his mouth is, how he teases her when his tongue circles her areola before sweeping over her belly.

She cries out when she feels his mouth between her thighs, his tongue delving between her folds, followed by his fingers. It’s so much more satisfying than the petals, the touch heavy enough that it doesn’t tease or tickle, his tongue seeking out her most sensitive places. He kisses her swollen clitoris and she jumps at the sharp spike of pleasure it sends through her. She tries to watch him, his golden head bowed and busy between her thighs, but the pleasure makes her boneless, gasping and shuddering, and her head falls back against the grass, her bronze hair tangling in it. All she can see is the blue of the sky through branches heavy with white blossom.

Instead, she holds his head in her hands, imagines the gold of his hair flowing over her fingers and gives herself over. She doesn’t have to be quiet, there is no one here but them, no one listening except the bees buzzing amongst the petals and they don’t care.

She cries out when she comes, her body seizing around his fingers and tongue, her hands grasping at his hair, holding him in place. Her breath gasps, her heart beats loudly.

Richard sits up, his face wet with her pleasure, and he smiles at her, cheeky and knowing, and she laughs, gathering her strength to launch herself at him, to knock him to the grass and kiss him, tasting herself on his lips and tongue. She feels his cock, hard and heavy, against her thighs and she reaches back, holds it, and sinks down until he fills her.

Richard cries out, his eyes closing, his face screwing up in ecstasy. She stays still for a moment, feeling the cool summer air against her skin, the throbbing heat of him inside her, his hands reaching to touch her, one palm resting on her breast, the other flat against her buttocks. She clenches down around him, hears his choked out groan. She rolls her hips experimentally and sweeps her eyes down his chest, letting her hands follow, her fingertips brushing over the pink of his nipples and the faint golden hair on his pale chest, leading towards the piece of him buried within her.

She looks down at herself, her breasts, the rolls of her belly, soft against his hips, and then begins to rise and fall. His hand sweeps from her buttocks, tangles their fingers together and she holds his hand as she moves, watching his face, the cords of his neck as he throws his head back, baring his throat to the sky, the green, empty world around them.

It’s lazy, this lovemaking, her knees digging into the grass. Sometimes she barely moves, just holds him inside her and feels it. Sometimes she studies the dappled shade moving over their bodies as the hawthorn sways in the breeze. She wishes it doesn’t have to end but her pleasure rises and doesn’t fall and Richard’s pleasured murmurings begin to grow desperate. She moves quickly, letting her hips rock down against his, touches him and cries out when his thumb moves over her clitoris, every part of her, every inch, rolling them towards an end.

He cries out when he comes, she feels his cock jerk within her and holds still, clenching around it as his fingers clutch at her, and that topples her over the edge.

When the world is silent again, she thinks, breathing heavily, her chest crushed against his, their bodies still joined, their arms clutching at each other. When the world is silent again, she thinks, they will do this again. They will run through the gardens and couple messily beneath the hawthorn until their bodies grow weary and they grow hungry and the sun grows too hot or the day too cool. Then they will leave and dream of barricading themselves within a walled garden.

But that will be later, she tells herself, and raises trembling hands to find one of the daisies from their crowns. She tucks it behind Richard’s ear.


End file.
